


Something About Clark

by Alexicon



Series: prompted on tumblr [10]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Fluff, M/M, boss/intern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7197209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexicon/pseuds/Alexicon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce takes the opportunity filling in for his employee at the Daily Planet to look into Superman. And this Clark Kent kid seems to enjoy bringing him lunch, he might as well take advantage of that. It's an interesting visit to Metropolis, all in all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something About Clark

**Author's Note:**

> [Anon prompted](http://lexiconallie.tumblr.com/post/145899925578/prompt-meme-49-sand-maybe-superbat-i-love-your):
>
>> Prompt meme: 49 sand maybe Superbat?
> 
> where 49 = boss/intern AU
> 
> FINALLY I AM SO SORRY

Bruce didn’t want to micromanage anything, let alone the Daily Planet -- one last bastion of print newspaper in this world of light and wires -- but the publisher, Gerald Walters, had begged Bruce to provide a fill-in for a month or so, because he’d wanted to go on vacation -- “for once,” the man’d said. “My wife needs this. _Please_ , Mr. Wayne.” -- and who better to fill in for the publisher than the owner?

Okay, probably tons of people, but crime was at an all-time low in Gotham right now, and Bruce was getting antsy. And he wanted to take this opportunity to determine what exactly was going on with Metropolis’ newest hero, ‘Superman’.

Maybe Bruce had no room to laugh at the man’s name, but he did anyway. It was reminiscent of pulp heroes in a way that brought back memories of some of Bruce’s favorite television shows as a child.

He flew to Metropolis like a good little rich boy and parked himself in the publisher’s office before he’d even visited his apartment -- or was it technically a condominium if he owned the building? Ah, _details_. It wasn’t quite as good business management as it may have looked to an outside observer; Bruce had been reading up on Superman, and he’d learned that all the best information on him came from his own newspaper.

It was always nice, when he didn’t have to look too far in his research. Of course, he’d be looking at other sources anyway for the sake of thoroughness, but this was a very good place to start. Bruce was pleasantly surprised to discover that the Daily Planet had a digital archive -- he hadn’t been looking forward to the prospect of microfilm, or physical newspapers. 

He buried himself in the computer until he heard a knock on the door. Bruce called for whoever it was to enter, then a man with dark, curling hair, glasses, and a hopeful smile poked his head in.

“I brought you lunch, Mister Wayne,” the man said.

Bruce was impressed. He hadn’t known anyone had noticed he was even in here; the blinds were drawn the entire time and there’d been no one around when he’d come in at an obscene hour of the morning.

“That’s very kind of you, Mister...”

“Clark. Uh, Clark Kent. Sir.” The man looked like it was taking all of his mental fortitude not to run away in shame now. “I’m an intern. I’m new.”

Bruce gave him a grin. “Well, then that’s very kind of you, Mister Kent.” 

Kent shrugged, looking sheepish. “It’s a habit. Mister Walters is hypoglycemic but often works past lunchtime. It’s not out of my way, so I bring him some food around this time.”

If it had been anyone else, Bruce would’ve thought that the man was trying to ingratiate himself into the boss’ good books, but Clark Kent had something honest about him.

There was nothing more bewildering to Bruce than an honest man. He’d have to keep an eye on Mr. Kent to make sure his first impression was correct. And that made two people in Metropolis he was monitoring, now -- Clark Kent and Superman.

“Do you want to eat with me?” Bruce said after a moment, seeing that Clark lingered by the doorway. He made his voice as welcoming as possible.

“I couldn’t possibly...”

“You could possibly,” Bruce replied with his most charming smile. “Come on, Clark, sit. I could use someone to tell me about Metropolis. It’s very different from Gotham. I still can’t believe all the sunshine you get here!”

Kent let out a startled laugh and sat carefully on one of the chairs in front of Bruce’s desk. “I probably don’t know any more about Metropolis than you do, sir. I’m from Smallville. In Kansas.”

“Ah, drop the ‘sir’, Clark, I’d like to hear my name once or twice during the next month. And don’t worry, you’ll be from Metropolis in no time. Big cities always take you in. Now, until then, I’m sure you have some insights... Tell me where you’d take someone new to the city. What are the highlights?”

Kent thought for a second, then started speaking. “There’s a hot dog stand right by my building which makes the best cheese dogs around. Leo even stocks good buns. There’s a movie theater a few blocks from here which shows old movies on Wednesday nights. They’re not always good, but they are always cheap, and it’s nice to watch them every week or so. Um. The zoo actually has chickens like they’re an exotic animal, I keep going there to figure out why. The chickens haven’t done anything special yet.”

Bruce raised his eyebrows. This was not the typical ‘come see Metropolis!’ tour, clearly, but it seemed a lot more enjoyable than seeing the baseball stadium. Or Overlook Park for the twenty-sixth time. Perhaps he’d have to visit the movie theater, at least.

After lunch was over, Kent fled from the room like Bruce had served them pig bile rather than a few bottles of orange soda from the mini fridge. Bruce didn’t mind. He hadn’t been able to bring up Superman in a subtle way, but he’d get his chance if Kent continued the habit of bringing him lunch.

And he did. The next day, Kent knocked and left the lunch bag by the door with a sticky note on it saying, ‘Have a nice day!’ in exquisitely neat handwriting above a smiley face.

Bruce found himself reluctantly charmed, and slipped the sticky note into his wallet between two of his credit cards. He had to wonder if Kent was avoiding him for some reason -- perhaps he’d scared the man off? -- but he dismissed the thought in the next second. He didn’t want to spare any mental energy from investigating Superman to think too much about Clark Kent.

He spent the rest of the day taking notes on what little information on Superman’s powers could be found in the Daily Planet’s archive. Most stories were more about what Superman _had done_ rather than what he could do, but there were hints scattered among the articles.

There was a story where Superman welded shut a geysering hole in a water tower with some kind of laser beam apparently coming from his eyes; six separate instances where he held up something impossibly heavy (a cargo train, three buildings or large pieces thereof, an airplane _full of people_ , and the planet from the top of this very building); one fawning description of how he had stopped a freak tidal wave from ruining Metropolis with a gust of freezing exhalation; a few hasty accounts of how the man had broken the sound barrier saving thirty-six people from a hostage situation; and a report of the man sold three bullets that had bounced off Superman’s chest for four hundred dollars a pop.

And, of course, he was flying in every photograph of him.

Bruce didn’t write anything down at the Daily Planet, but he impressed it into his memory to input into his own computer later.

The day after that, Kent actually came in the room with his brown paper bag and a mug of steaming coffee held carefully in his left hand.

“I wasn’t sure how you take it,” Kent said. “I have cream and sugar in my pocket, just give me a second and I can get it out.”

Bruce was fine with black coffee -- preferred it, even -- but he liked a man who was prepared.

“Thank you,” he replied with a small smile, closing the laptop smoothly. Today he was researching the sorts of crimes or disasters that this Superman prioritized over others. Bruce had perhaps become a little distracted; his browser window was opened to a fullscreen picture of Superman rescuing a cat from a tree after his costume had been nearly destroyed by an explosion on the other side of the city. He was almost glad Clark had interrupted. He’d been staring for a good three minutes now.

Kent took a moment to fish the cream and sugar out of his pocket. As Kent hadn’t put down the mug first, Bruce was a little concerned, but the man somehow managed to keep it steady as he wriggled them out.

Kent had brought enough to turn a cup of coffee completely white and sweeter than candy. Bruce couldn’t help his raised eyebrows. He politely used one package of each, not wanting to tell Kent he’d brought so many for naught.

“Sit with me?” Bruce said, half-order and half-request. Clark nodded and did so, fiddling absently with the shirt buttons at his chest after glancing down at Bruce’s hands where they lay beside the coffee mug.

Bruce waited for a moment to allow Kent to settle in before he spoke again. “I was curious about Superman.”

Kent stilled nearly imperceptibly and blinked.

“Were you?” he ventured.

Clark Kent had been hired around the time when Lois Lane landed her first interview with Superman. Bruce could tell from Kent’s application and file that the man had plans to become a reporter himself, which led Bruce to hypothesize that he’d done some information-gathering of his own on the new superhero in Metropolis. And judging by Kent’s reaction, Bruce was either very, very right or very, very wrong.

“Yes,” said Bruce after a beat. The ‘ _obviously_ ’ was implied. “Can you tell me anything about him?”

Kent looked to be searching his memory for any information. Bruce didn’t mention that he would have taken any obscure fact, as long as it was something new.

“He’s...tall. Taller than most people expect. He’s very fast. He’s pretty open to interviews.”

Bruce hummed. “So you’ve actually met him?”

Kent’s expression was pained for a split second. “Not _met_ , exactly. I’ve seen him. He talked to Lois, uh, Lois Lane, the reporter. We’re friends.”

“I’ve read some of her articles. She’s good. I almost wish she’d interview me the next time someone decides to do a story about me.”

“She’s very...dedicated,” Kent said, choosing his words carefully.

Bruce allowed himself a smile. He had actually met Lois Lane before, although she wouldn’t know it. She’d come to Gotham for an investigation into one of Lex Luthor’s projects in the city and, as reporters often do, had stumbled into trouble.

Her subsequent article on the Batman had been almost as complimentary as her article on Superman. Alfred had cut it out and framed it, somehow finding it even with it hidden in the back of the Daily Planet like a dirty secret.

Suddenly, Kent’s head popped up and strained toward the door. The rest of his body stayed perfectly steady, like he was restrained with invisible ropes, but Bruce could see the tension in his hands.

Bruce hadn’t noticed anything outside his office which would have prompted this reaction, but it was worth checking.

“Why don’t we take a look at the newsroom?” It was a flimsy excuse, barely even meriting the term, but Clark wasn’t paying enough attention to Bruce to call him on it.

Kent nodded and gave him a distracted smile. There was nothing out of the ordinary as they exited, so Bruce had to lead them down to the newsroom.

Most everyone there was gathered in a crowd watching the television. The footage showed the outside of a bank -- Bruce had to read the crawl to learn that there was a robbery occurring at said bank.

Bruce and Clark started talking at the same time.

“I’ve got a --”

“I have to --”

They stopped and stared at each other suspiciously for a second. Bruce almost told Kent to speak, but the man derailed this plan by wincing and looking out the window again.

“Have-to-go-bye!” Kent shouted over his shoulder as he sped out the door.

Bruce didn’t have time to watch him leave, or to determine what was wrong. He had a costume to don.

The bank was near to the Planet’s building; he and Superman arrived at nearly the same time. Superman was talking to the police outside the building, and his head shot up to meet Batman’s eyes when Batman approached the bank on foot. Superman ended his discussion with the police and came over to greet Batman.

“Welcome to Metropolis!” Superman said, in a tone which would’ve been ironic from any other person. “I hadn’t known you’d be visiting us.”

“You mean that invitation wasn’t from you?” Batman asked dryly, his face as straight as ever.

Superman smiled, but got to business quickly. Batman appreciated that. The man was just in the middle of reporting to the police the positions of each of the six robbers and the twenty-six hostages when he cocked his head like a bright-eyed, overeager sheepdog. Batman narrowed his eyes; the expression on Superman’s face was worrying.

“What is it?” Batman grit out after a second, feeling foolish.

“There’s a fire on the other side of town,” Superman said vaguely, appearing indecisive and a thousand miles away at once.

Batman closed his eyes in a slow blink.

“Go,” he ordered.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m always sure. One of us has ice breath, Superman.”

Superman didn’t reply to that one, but he gave Batman a bright smile and an almost awkward wave before he broke the sound barrier and disappeared.

The policemen to whom Superman had been speaking turned to Batman warily.

“Uh,” they started, “can you see inside too, or...?”

Batman turned his back on them with a flourish of his cape and made his way into the bank immediately. He didn’t have time to chat; _he_ didn’t have superspeed, after all.

He took out the two lookouts in the main room first, silently pointing the hostages in the direction of the exit. The other robbers, as Batman learned from their heat trails with use of his infrared lenses, had gone in the direction of the safety deposit boxes.

That was almost clever of them.

Presumably they’d taken the manager for access, which meant at least one hostage in the room with the rest of the criminals. Batman had no way of knowing whether there were other entrances to the safety deposit rooms, and it wasn’t worth the delay to search for one. Every second he took was another in which innocents were in danger. He’d have to use the same door as the others... but that didn’t mean he’d merely walk in.

Batman turned his night vision lenses on and turned the lights off in the same moment. It may be a cheap trick, but it tended to work more often than not. And it worked this time. All the men but one were wearing masks -- good. That meant only one hostage.

Batman dodged their wild flailing and knocked them out with a few quick punches to the head. Then he had to duck a fist flying at him from their hostage, who’d apparently decided to take the opportunity to try to escape. Batman took hold of the man’s wrist and led him to the hallway. He didn’t stop babbling out pleas for help until the light crossed Batman’s cowl, and he fell silent.

Then, “Oh. Thank you.”

Batman didn’t stop to chat with the policemen on the way out, which he suspected Superman might have done if he’d been the one to take care of the bank robbers today. Batman did throw back, “It’s done,” over his shoulder, out of what could be termed politeness if one had a much broader definition of the term than Alfred tended to provide when asked, as he stalked back to where he’d concealed the modified motorcycle he’d used to get here.

He had to get back to the Daily Planet before Clark noticed he’d been gone.

The rest of the day was long, Bruce unable to relax in the role he had to keep up. He’d stopped in the newsroom to see what everyone had to say about Superman. There had been a report on the televisions about the fire; everyone was safe. Bruce turned away when he saw the bank’s image appear on the screen, making to socialize with some of the reporters to distract from the current events.

He didn’t see Kent until lunch the next day, and by that point, every moment of the few seconds he’d met Superman had been thoroughly examined. Bruce was no artist, but he thought he might have been able to make a fair sketch of the man’s face -- better than any image the Daily Planet had in its photo archives, he knew.

Bruce frowned. How was it there were no clear pictures of Superman’s face anywhere? Was this by chance or by design?

Kent entered as he was ruminating on this.

“Hello. Sorry about yesterday, I had an urgent...thing to take care of. Hope you don’t mind peanut butter?”

Bruce glanced up at him slowly, thoughts still racing. “What urgent thing?”

“I had a dentist’s appointment,” Clark said, half-grimacing to show off his perfect teeth. Then his lips turned down and his forehead creased. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I am,” Bruce said with a theatric eyeroll. “Am I not always?”

Clark hummed, the worried expression not leaving his face as his eyes scanned over Bruce’s body. Bruce tried not to feel the aches he knew were there; Kent’s eyes were oddly penetrating, even behind those glasses.

He shook the feeling off when Kent looked away and squinted at the wall.

“And no, I don’t mind,” Bruce added.

Most would’ve been lost at the apparent non sequitur, but Clark only smiled and handed over a plastic bag from the paper bag on his lap.

Bruce examined for a moment and furrowed his eyebrows. It was cut down the center diagonally, rather than the vertical cut Alfred always made for him as a child. And, he found, it wasn’t peanut butter and _jelly_ ; it was --

“Honey?” Bruce murmured, and Clark glanced up and blinked at Bruce a few times with a small smile breaking across his face before his eyes fell on the sandwich.

“Oh! Oh, yeah, it’s honey. That’s how Ma makes it sometimes on the farm. It’s good, I swear!”

Bruce wanted to laugh -- he’d probably eaten stranger things than _anything_ the Kents had ever seen ‘on the farm’ -- but took a bite instead. It was good, Clark was right. He’d have to have another two or three to feel completely full, but there was no unsuspicious way to tell anyone that he needed that kind of caloric intake.

After he’d inhaled it, he went back to his memories of yesterday and stared into the middle distance as Kent finished his own sandwich at a more sedate pace. Bruce tapped his pen against the table one, two, three times and stopped.

“What do you do, as an intern?” he asked suddenly, focusing back on Kent’s face.

Kent gave a half-shrug and gave him an amiable smile, answering, “Mostly fact-checking, that sort of thing. Sometimes I type out recorded interviews and find quotes that fit the article.”

Bruce nodded. “That’s important work.” It felt bland, too obvious a reply; he didn’t know why he hadn’t asked more subtly, or merely searched for an answer on his own.

But Clark apparently didn’t think it was too bland, as he grinned down at his hands with the brightest smile Bruce had seen since...since Superman, the day before.

Bruce sat back with a soft thud. Superman and Clark had very similar smiles. Superman and Clark had very similar physical features. Ergo...they were related? Or was there no connection?

“Do you have many aunts or uncles back in Smallville, Clark?”

Clark shook his head. “Nope. Both my parents are only children.”

It was unlikely they’d share any physical features even if they were only second cousins, let alone if they were any further apart on their family tree. There was probably no connection. Still...Bruce’s curiosity was aroused, and he would look out for anything which might connect Clark Kent and Superman.

He got the opportunity to investigate only two days later. There was an alien, some sort of energy-amassing blob, which attacked a small section of Metropolis. Batman had been perhaps a tad outmatched with his current gear and level of research on energy-amassing blob aliens. Superman had appeared in front of him just in the nick of time to shield Batman from a powerful blast from one of the blob alien’s tendrils.

Batman was grateful, not that he would say so. He could say, “You did well in blocking that last blast,” however, which Superman apparently took as a ‘thank you’.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

“Of course I am,” Batman dismissed. “You’re good at this.” The statements were not entirely unconnected; if Superman hadn’t been good, Batman wouldn’t be here to awkwardly compliment him. Batman didn’t like trusting his back to other people, but it was good to know that sometimes, under certain conditions, it could possibly be trusted to certain superheroes. It was a start.

Superman didn’t blush. Batman thought it was perhaps a near thing that he didn’t.

Instead, Superman smiled widely and looked down at his hands and Bruce _froze_.

Clark Kent and Superman had very similar smiles. Suspiciously similar. One might even say _the same_ smile. On the same face, atop the same body. On the same _person_.

“You have to work on your body language,” Bruce heard himself say. It was too late to take the words back, from the befuddled expression on Clark’s -- on _Superman’s_ face, but at least he didn’t have to explain them.

Not yet.

Batman gave Superman a small smirk of farewell and turned to run off in almost the exact opposite direction of the Daily Planet. The motorcycle would have to come to him this time.

Back at the Daily Planet, Bruce washed his face and contorted his mouth and eyebrows at the mirror a few times before he felt he could be Bruce Wayne again. He didn’t usually have to make the transition between Batman and Bruce Wayne so quickly -- in Gotham, the Bat tended to come out only at night, when reasonable billionaires could be safely expected to be sleeping, not toying about at being the publisher of a newspaper.

Clark -- _Superman_ \-- almost knocked him over in his exit from the elevator. They grabbed each other for a moment to stay steady, then Bruce broke into chuckles and swiped an escaped damp hair back from his forehead.

“Nice to see you, Clark,” he said, grin fueled with the satisfaction of a secret known.

“You too, Bruce,” Clark said with a tentative smile.

Looking at him now, Bruce could see how he’d been fooled into thinking Clark Kent and Superman were different people. His posture was slouching, minimizing, in this role. Still, there were plenty of similarities between the two identities that an observant person could pick out if they were looking.

Bruce made an abrupt decision and let his grin widen even further.

“You’ve got to work on your body language,” Bruce said, and Clark’s mouth dropped open.

“You’re --”

“For instance,” interrupted Bruce, smiling still, “is this” -- he dropped his arm around Clark’s waist -- “something the _Batman_ would ever do?”

“ _No_ ,” murmured Clark, eyes wide. “You know.”

“As do you.”

“You’re --” Clark tried again, but Bruce shook his head to stop him.

“I am,” he answered nonetheless. “Let’s not talk about it in too much detail here, hmmm?” Bruce raised his eyebrows and waited for Clark to understand the unspoken ‘we’re in a building filled with dozens of clever reporters just waiting for their scoop’; Clark seemed to get it immediately, although his nod was distracted.

“That’s -- that’s very interesting. Could we meet somewhere more private later? To discuss things?”

“Why, Clark Kent, are you asking me on a _date_?” Bruce batted his eyelashes a few times and didn’t suppress the amused quirk to his lips as he often had to.

Clark sputtered for a few seconds, then gave up and shrugged. “Well, uh. Would you want to?”

Bruce’s eyebrows lifted slightly. His grin dropped to a more natural smirk. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Clark nodded and blushed, unable to keep back the smile on his face. It was... _cute_.

Bruce already knew his answer would be ‘yes’. He’d have to make plans for this.

Good.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lexiconallie.tumblr.com)!!
> 
> This took a lot of research into weird things, wow. Like I had no idea how a paper newspaper works?? And also little things like 'which way does alfred pennyworth cut his sandwiches'. _That_ one was an important one, gosh. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
